


Adaptation

by angeryeva



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, BAMF Stiles, Blood, Dark Stiles Stilinski, French Fries, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Insomnia, Masks, No Slash, Nogitsune Effects, Nogitsune Trauma, Post-Nogitsune, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Scott is a Good Friend, Smoking, Stiles Stilinski Smokes, Stiles Stilinski Uses A Baseball Bat, Underage Smoking, Vengeful Stiles Stilinski, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21836941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeryeva/pseuds/angeryeva
Summary: “You know smoking can kill, right?” But Stiles just breathed out a puff of smoke, dancing hypnotizingly through the sky.“You’re just delaying the inevitable, Scott.” Stiles had said, and offered Scott a cigarette. Scott took it.Stiles changed, and Scott knows.
Relationships: Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 1
Kudos: 212





	Adaptation

**Author's Note:**

> There is something  
> secret  
> burning in your heart  
> and I can  
> smell the  
> smoke.
> 
> \- Michelle K.

Scott has never met someone like Stiles. At first glance just another skinny white boy who watched too many Marvel movies for his own good. But after you spend some time with him, you start to notice when that mask slips. You start to notice the darkness, hiding in his heart.

-

They had a free period, which meant curly fries and chocolate milkshakes. Stiles had just stuffed his mouth full with fries, when Scott finally mustered up enough courage to ask the question he had been wanting to ask for ages.

“Have you been sleeping?”

Stiles almost choked on the fries. He looked at Scott with big eyes after spitting half back and swallowing the others. Gross.

“What?” Stiles asked, even though Scott was sure his best friend heard what he’d said. Scott shoved Stiles’ milkshake towards the boy, who was still coughing. He shot a grateful look back.

“Are you sleeping?” This time it was more of a demand than a question. Stiles still averted his eyes. Scott can imagine the dark look his friend’s probably wearing.

“You know I can’t, Scotty…” Stiles played with the straw of his milkshake. “Even if I wanted to face the nightmares, the insomnia wouldn’t let me. And I know you’re worried, Scott, but this isn’t something you can fix. It’s just- the only thing I can do is deal with it, and maybe hope it’ll get better.” His straw was completely ruined. Scott took it out and exchanged it with his own. Stiles didn’t notice.

“I know, Stiles. I just wish I could help.” He offered a sad smile, and Stiles returned it. Stiles blinked, and he was back to his energetic self again. Spouting theories about the latest supernatural threats, his mind wandering off to completely off-topic subjects (which he probably read about during one of his hyperfocus-induced Wikipedia procrastination sessions), hands flailing about, constantly moving. It was a familiar and comforting sight, but Scott couldn’t help but wonder exactly how much Stiles had changed.

-

He had once tried asking why Stiles smoked. It was the morning after a night filled with fighting angry Omegas. They were sat on the hood of Stiles’ jeep, when said boy lit up a cigarette.

“You know smoking can kill, right?” But Stiles just exhaled a puff of smoke, which started dancing hypnotically through the sky.

“You’re just delaying the inevitable, Scott.” Stiles had said, and offered Scott a cigarette. Scott took it. The rest of the morning had been filled with Scott coughing and Stiles laughing at him. It was good.

-

Scott wasn’t the only kid whose dad had a history of drinking. Stiles unfortunately knew the feeling all too well. Scott had entered the Stilinski home one night, he’d forgotten his bag after one of their ‘study’ sessions (which was more of a way to keep his best friend company after his mother’s death), to find the Sheriff passed out on the couch, bottle still in his hand. 

Scott found Stiles in a similar position after a fight had escalated, resulting in the Sheriff lying unconscious in the hospital. Stiles was laying face-down on the old couch. An empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the floor. Stiles’ pack of cigarettes had fallen out of his pocket, and the death sticks laid spread out on the ground. 

Scott pushed his arms under the skinny body, and lifted him up, bridal-style. He carried him up the stairs, to the bedroom. He only had to use a little of his supernatural strength. Scott carefully laid his friend on his bed, pulling a blanket over his shoulders. 

If Stiles noticed the pancakes wrapped in plastic foil on the kitchen counter the next morning, he didn’t say anything.

-

Torture is something the pack unfortunately had to deal with on a regular basis. That didn’t exclude Stiles. It wasn’t the first time Stiles had been tortured, and probably won’t be the last. But this time, it looked like Stiles had enough.

Scott found his best friend with a busted lip, a broken nose and multiple knife-wounds. He was barely conscious, just enough to realize Scott was there to save him. 

“‘M going t’kill her, Scott…” Stiles mumbled, blood dripping from his nose onto his lips. Scott didn’t answer.

When they finally caught the witch who kidnapped Stiles two weeks later, she was probably going to bleed out without proper medical care. Malia was trying to convince Scott that they should just kill her, but he wouldn’t budge. Lydia said they didn’t have time for this, that they should’ve called Melissa ages ago. 

“Guys? I think it’s too late for that now…” With Malia’s words, Scott turned to see both Stiles and the witch gone. Lydia and Malia started to freak out, but Scott knew exactly where Stiles had gone.

“Don’t worry guys, I know where they are. Why don’t you find Deaton. He probably needs help.” Scott left without waiting for an answer. He followed the bloody smell of the witch, and Stiles’ sharp scent. He used to smell like motor oil, mint-mojito flavored gum, and curly fries. After the Nogitsune, the smell of death stuck. Curly fries turned into electricity. Gum into cigarettes. Motor oil into something burning.

Scott ended up in another abandoned warehouse (Beacon Hills certainly never had enough of those). The witch was lying on the floor, blood puddled around her. Stiles slowly approaching her, baseball bat dragging on the floor after him. Scott knew this was something Stiles had to do alone, so he just watched.

“You’re dying.” Stiles said. His voice was cold and smooth. Nothing like the anxious kid Scott knew all those years ago. The witch grunted. Stiles stopped in front of her. The witch muttered something, and moved her hands. A light began to emerge from her palms, a spell in the making.

A shrill shriek interrupted the muttering. Stiles had smashed his bat down on her hands. Scott could hear the crunching of bones breaking. 

“Now, now. We can’t have that.” Stiles slung the now bloodied bat across his shoulders, both hands resting on opposite ends. Like a street-thug in a movie. Stiles nudged the woman with his foot, turning her on her back. The wounds were more visible now. Huge slashes (Malia) covered her chest. 

“Y’know, you aren’t the first one who's tortured me. It’s happened countless times. People look at my pack, see the human, and think: there’s a weak link.” Stiles crouches in front of the witch, let’s the bat rest on his knees. “They used to be right. I was the weak link. The defenseless human. The helpless kid.” The witch whimpered, returning back to a fetal position. Stiles chuckled.

“Circumstance requires adaptation. And let’s just say… I adapted.” 

Stiles rose. He gripped his bat tightly. Knuckles turned white. He swung.

Scott turned away and closed his eyes. He might be a werewolf, but some things he’d rather not see. Still, he could hear the crushing of bones, the splattering of blood, the squishing of brain matter. After the sounds stopped, he opened his eyes. Stiles emerged from the warehouse, covered in blood. He looked at Scott.

“You coming?” Stiles said. Scott nodded solemnly. He didn’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

> my one shot I wrote instead of studying lol
> 
> hope you enjoyed it :)
> 
> (leave kudos please im desperate)


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